


the weight of us

by smolskye



Category: LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Canon Compliant, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Family, Gen, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Parenthood, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Snapshots, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:48:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23443597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolskye/pseuds/smolskye
Summary: Brad knows he can't be an addict and a father. He tries anyway.(up to and including painful.)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24





	the weight of us

**Author's Note:**

> kind of a spiritual prequel to my other lisa fic "god" in the sense that i took canon and added some extra shit to be dramatic. tw for some small rape threats and mentions

The sun took its time edging past the horizon and into the reddening sky, its hungry rays spreading across the world, and Brad had memorized how it crawled over the mountains, how it illuminated the hills and rocks one at a time and crept ever closer to his home. He squinted against the sunlight and adjusted his daughter’s position in his lap, turning her tiny face away. After a long night where she kept waking up and he had rocked her back to sleep more than once, even the sunlight scorching his eyes wasn’t enough to keep them from closing.

She shifted minutely in her sleep and he tensed, worried she was about to start fussing again, but she settled into stillness a moment later. He exhaled a sigh of relief; maybe he would get a few hours respite.

He didn’t dare to move from his seat, resigning himself to the stiff feeling in his arms and hands. The silence of the world was so different from Buddy’s various baby sounds that it almost felt empty. Only her little body in the crook of his arms tied him to Earth, to reality.

When the door creaked, a muscle in his neck twitched, but he didn’t move. “Hey.” It was Rick, keeping his voice down. “You okay?”

Brad nodded. “She’s sleeping.”

“There’s formula ready when she needs some.”

“Alright.”

“You hungry?”

Brad shook his head.

“Sticky and I are gonna raid today, is it cool if we use your shotgun?”

Brad nodded.

“Okay. We’ll probably leave around noon.”

“Shouldn’t you go at night?”

“The place we’ve been watching has more guards at night. It’ll be a risk no matter what.”

“Good luck, then. There’s extra ammo in the cabinet by the ladder.”

“Yup.” Rick hesitated for a moment. “You good, Brad?”

Brad nodded again. “Fine.”

“‘Kay, then.” Rick closed the door as quietly as possible when he went back inside.

Brad turned back to the sun, now above the earth, and gently rocked Buddy a few more times, just in case. 

It would be a long day, but they all were.

Every now and then, Brad had no other choice but to drink himself into a stupor and let his thoughts chase each other around in his head, try to drown them out in desperate, ever-futile attempts. He was trying to limit his drug use; alcohol was another story. In his defense, it was one of the safest things to drink.

 _You’re not ready for this. I’m not ready for this._ He had _never_ been ready for this. He had never been prepared to raise a child. He had lost his sister and failed his first try, memories of the boy he once called his son rising to the forefront of his mind. Brad waved his hand as if to swat them away. He couldn’t let that hurt anymore, couldn’t let that regret take him over like it used to, back when he was addicted to Oxy and found himself putting bottles of whiskey in the recycling at least twice a week. Bottle after bottle, pill after pill, Dustin’s blue eyes flickering to Buddy’s hazel and back. At least hers weren’t tainted by the betrayal of her only parent. _Yet._

His whole body trembled with shame, exhaustion from deep in his bones, from the bottom of his heart. He really hadn’t changed at all.

 _How can you raise a child like this?_ His conscience gestured at the empty bottles of beer in front of him as it continued to scold him. _How can you be a good person, let alone a father?_

“Shut up,” he said aloud, not loud enough to wake anyone, and beheld a blue pill for a few seconds - _fuck it -_ before taking it.

It only took a few seconds for all that shame and frustration and regret and fear and doubt to fade to nothing. Just nothing. 

It was different from before. Oxy had at least made him feel _better._ Joy made him feel _nothing._ But it was the best alternative to sobriety, and beggars who survived a horrible disaster couldn’t be choosers.

His conscience silenced, he was able to get out of the chair and stumble to the door, shutting it behind him as he went to sit in the chair outside. If there was one good thing about the aftermath of the Flash, it was that the stars were visible during the short nights. They glittered high above him and, if his vision wasn’t swimming, he could pick out constellations. A few nights ago, he had pointed them out to Buddy, who had waved her little hands in the air and giggled, still too young to really understand, but old enough to recognize his voice. 

One emotion broke through the haze of nothingness in his head. It didn’t have a name; he supposed it could be called love, but it felt like more than that. It was love accompanied by violence, by _I would kill a thousand men to protect you,_ by _I will stop at nothing to keep you safe._ It was the feeling that flooded his body when he looked upon his daughter, now almost two years old.

Promising himself that he would throw out the drugs after this, as he must have done a hundred times now, he let his limbs relax and looked out at the darkened ground through his clouded vision. His last thought before intoxication claimed him was that he was willing to kill for Buddy, but that he couldn’t give up his vices for her, and wondering what that said about him.

There were moments that made up for everything over the next few years, moments that made his worries and fears and memories melt away for a little while.

Her first word - her own name. Her first steps, tottering around the house while Brad hovered, ready to catch her. The first time her little hands grabbed for one of the kiddie books he read to her and she read one of the lines out loud.

He could hardly breathe in time to tell her, “Great job, Buddy,” his eyes burning. She beamed at him and slowly read another line, looking at him expectantly afterwards. “You’re a good reader,” he told her. For the first time in years, he had to wipe away tears after she fell asleep.

For a while, she fit around his shoulders, and she would pull on his hair and giggle when he went in the directions she pointed. She accidentally picked up a few curses from the adults and Brad tried to get her to stop saying them to no avail, and everybody laughed at the sight of a five year old running around the house saying swear words. 

Time ticked away. Marks for every day, despite daylight lasting longer than it used to. Marking her height on the wall as she grew from three to four feet tall. Her pencils and pens, marking paper with letters and words and drawings of a world she barely saw. 

Still, bottles of alcohol, bottles of pills, coping mechanisms Brad tried and failed to cast aside, all plagued him. Hallucinations and delusions, everything he hated and feared, only faded when he took those drugs. _Get rid of them, do it for her,_ he told himself again and again and again, but he was never strong enough. He begged his brain to stop, begged these memories to leave him alone, begged his own guilt to go away, but Joy was the only solution, the only respite.

He tried, he tried so hard, but the weight of his trauma, of his life, of everything was too much to bear, and he couldn’t help but sink into that darkness. When lifelines came in the form of his daughter, his friends, and doing what needed to be done for them, he clung onto them for dear life. Anything to distract him. Anything to lift the weight for just a little while.

“ _Brad,_ get up! It’s morning!” Buddy’s fists were pounding on his shoulder as he laid on his side, and he jerked awake.

“I’m up, I’m up,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut against the light. “What’s got you so - so perky?” he asked with a yawn.

“Perky?”

“Um...excited. Happy. Those things.”

“‘Cause you said we could go outside today!” She was jumping up and down in excitement, her growing hair moving with her. “C’mon, I wanna go! I wanna see!”

“Just gimme a second.”

She hovered impatiently around Rick; the other two men were presumably scouting for danger outside. She tightened her ponytail and said to Brad, “I tied my hair up myself, see?”

“Yep, good job,” said Brad, stifling another yawn. “Okay, let’s go. Wait for me,” he added as she raced to the door. She rolled her eyes and bounced on the balls of her feet.

Sticky or Cheeks gave the all clear with a signature knock on the door, and once Brad had crossed the room and opened the door, he said, “Alright, out you go.”

“Yes!” Buddy cheered as she bolted outside, running as fast as her little legs could take her.

“Slow down!” Brad called, following her at a much slower pace. “Be careful!”

She skidded to a stop and turned around only to shout, “I am!” before racing off again. Brad reluctantly tolerated her whoops of excitement as she ran around kicking rocks and spinning in circles until she got dizzy and sat back, giggling to herself.

“You’re _sure_ everything is fine?” he pressed Cheeks and Sticky, who both held impressive-looking guns in their arms.

“We checked the whole perimeter,” Sticky replied. “We’re safe.”

Still, Brad watched Buddy intensely the entire time she dashed around and made her own fun. “Maybe we should find her a soccer ball or something,” Cheeks commented. “She’s got a lot of energy.”

Brad nodded. “Maybe.” Even seeing her outside now gave him a feeling akin to a fight or flight response - mostly just _fight -_ but he knew she would have to go outside sometimes. Besides, they lived pretty out of the way. Very rarely did they see strangers passing by.

A little while later, Buddy announced that she was hungry and ran back to the house. “I like going outside,” she said. “Can I do that more? Please?” she added; she had recently learned how to use _please._

“You can, yeah, but not too often,” said Brad.

She pouted. “Why not?”

“Because it’s dangerous out there. Sorry, kiddo.”

Thankfully, she just huffed an _okay_ and dropped the topic after dinner, when she retrieved one of the books they had stolen a while back and sat in her bed to read, occasionally asking the men what a word meant. The sun began to go down and Buddy began to yawn and Brad realized he had miraculously spent the day sober and free of hallucinations. With a bit more emotion and heart than usual, he tucked Buddy into bed and read a book to her until she drifted off, then bypassed the cabinet full of alcohol to head to bed. His head clear, for once at peace, it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep.

_“Stupid cunt boy, I’m not getting you shit. You’re a waste of my time n’ money. Piece of shit kid. Get out of my face.”_

_A change of scenery._

_“Leave her alone? You want another black eye? You stay the fuck right there if you want to eat tomorrow, you hear me? I don’t wanna hear another word outta you. What the fuck did you say to me? Fine, yer not eating or drinking tomorrow. Can’t even handle this? You’ll never be a man, you weak little bitch.”_

_A change in time._

_“Get over here. Yer not gettin’ outta it just ‘cause you don’t have a cunt. Touch her or you’ll wish you were dead. Look at her, she wants it, she’s just playin’ hard to get, the little slut. Not gonna bite? Watch and learn, then, Brad...”_

“...Brad!”

Brad jolted awake in a cold sweat, his body trembling, his mouth dry.

“Brad? Brad?” It was Buddy’s anxious voice that had broken into his nightmare. “Brad! You awake?”

“Yeah,” he managed to say, clearing his throat. He sat up. “Y-yeah. You okay, Buddy?”

“Uh-huh, but I saw you moving an’ I heard you crying.” She was scared; as a child she probably saw her father as indestructible, sturdy, strong. Seeing him cry, seeing him vulnerable and weak must have shattered that. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

He shook his head, still shaking, and wiped the tears from his eyes and cheeks. “No, I just had a nightmare. A scary dream.”

“Oh.” She sat down next to him. “What kinda scary dream?”

“I was...being hurt by someone.” He pleaded to his own head not to turn Buddy into a hallucination, not to give her his sister’s face that he had just seen moments ago, twisted into fear and pain and despair. He was relieved that her face remained her own.

“Are you okay now?” she asked. Her fingers drummed on the ground in anxiety.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m okay,” he assured her, and gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Nightmares go away. It’s fine.”

“Okay,” she said, satisfied.

“What were _you_ doing awake?” he asked her sternly, changing the subject.

“I dunno, I just woke up, I wasn’t staying up!” she said defensively as her voice raised in volume.

“Shh, honey, your uncles are sleeping.”

“Oh, sorry,” she whispered. “But yeah, I woke up, I dunno why.”

“It happens sometimes,” he said. “Try to go back to sleep, okay? I’ll do that too. If you fall asleep first, I’ll give you a treat tomorrow.”

“Okay!” she whispered excitedly. “I’ll fall asleep real quick!” And with that, she scrambled back over to her bed and pulled the covers over her. Brad figured she would fall asleep first, but he had already planned on giving her some Oreos out of a package they had stolen a few days ago. 

_Hold onto this moment,_ he thought, _please, just hold onto_ now, _not all those years ago. Just do it for her. Please._

Seven, eight, nine, ten. 

Brad taught Buddy to kill, showed her how to hold a knife and where the jugular vein was in a random man’s throat as he begged for his life. Brad talked her through it and she tried to be strong but when it was all over she shook and cried with blood on her hands and turned to him and asked why she had to do this. He told her it was what everyone had to do to protect themselves in this new awful world, and all she could do was nod.

She didn’t cry the second time, just stared at her handiwork with a kind of dead acceptance and wiped the blood on her sweatpants without saying anything. “Good job,” Brad told her. “I just want you to be able to protect yourself if something happens to us,” he added. She had heard it a thousand times.

He taught her how to shoot a gun, and she laughed and cheered when she shot bottles off of rocks. He praised her and this time, she smiled. It was fun, she had said, not thinking about the application of the skill.

Her expression was different when she shot a man for the first time. The bang echoed through their little valley and she turned away from the body, dropping the gun from her shaking hand; Brad gave her an additional lecture about putting the safety back on.

Sometimes her uncles would step in and offer differing opinions, but this was something they agreed with Brad on. “I know it’s hard, Buddy, but it’s how we all have to defend ourselves out here,” Sticky said one night. “It’s how we keep people from hurting us, and it’s how we’re able to get food to feed us. It’s something you need to know.”

Something in her hardened after that. Brad saw it in her eyes. She didn’t like the thought of it, nor did she want to hurt anyone, but she had a better understanding of the world and what they needed to do to survive. He hated it, but he was proud of her.

After an incident where a stranger saw Buddy with her hair down and heard her voice - her uncles ushered her inside while Brad was forced to kill him with his bare hands, as no weapons were in reach - Brad fashioned her a mask and he let her decorate it with some old paint they had scavenged. She declared how cool it looked and he hoped she wouldn’t be too resentful about having to wear it. Her face was changing, her voice was changing, and her body would be changing next, he knew. And that scared him the most.

As Buddy grew, he wished there was a woman to help her with...certain things, things that he had no clue about. In the meantime, he wallowed in his own fear as it threatened to overwhelm him. His daughter was growing up, and it was terrifying.

_I love you._

The words felt like a curse. He had held his sister close and she had sobbed into his shoulder and he had said it and meant it, but he failed her. Her body lay in a casket below the ground, laid to rest in a funeral only he attended. He had told Dustin, the boy from another life, and their relationship had fallen apart like paper in the rain. And he hadn’t said it since.

_Everything I touch dies. Everyone I love leaves._

Buddy went from ten to eleven and he was still too scared to tell her what he felt, scared that the same pain would come. Scared that she wouldn’t believe him after all the times he had made her cry when he couldn’t restrain his anguish. Could anyone who had dealt with his anger, his frustration, his pain, believe him if he said he loved them? Could he even love someone like this?

Those thoughts tortured him at times.

The first time he was able to say it was one windblasted day where he held her hand tight in his own as they stood upon a hill outside of their home and looked out across a world both of them hardly knew. She wore her mask, her hair was tied up, and her changing body was hidden under a thick shawl. They stood by a lone patch of grass with a few flowers and it rose in him like a swelling storm, his mind for once free of any vice.

“I love you, Buddy,” he said.

Her grip tightened further. “I love you too.” There was determination in her voice. It had gotten deeper in the last few months, no longer the high-pitched squeaks of a young child. Brad wanted to believe she was speaking the truth, but he was terrified that the words were said out of obligation, not honesty.

“I know I’ve let you down,” he said heavily. He had never felt heavier. “I’ve said things I wish I hadn’t. Done things I regret. But I’ve never regretted rescuing you. And I’ll never stop trying to keep you safe.”

Rather bluntly, Buddy said, “You do and say those things when you take those blue pills or drink alcohol.” She had seen him passed out and seen stray pills left out too many times to be unaware of his addiction. “If you stop doing that stuff, will you stop all of that?”

Brad flinched. Sorrow tore at him like a wild animal. He had been a child aware of alcohol addiction; the fact that she was in his place now hurt more than he could bear. “It’s...not as easy as it seems to just...stop. People do...those things when they’ve...gone through things.”

“Things like what?”

He hesitated, then decided against telling her. She was too young. He only gave her a piece of the truth when he said, “My life before the Flash wasn’t good. Drugs and alcohol help with...not thinking about it.”

“Oh.” 

They were both quiet until she said, “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“It must have been pretty bad. So I’m sorry you had to go through it.” She hesitated, then scooted over and gave him an awkward side sort-of hug. “Does it still hurt?”

“Everyday,” he said honestly, patting Buddy on the shoulder. “It’s gotten a little better, but...it’s still hard. I’m just sorry you have to deal with it. I try to stop.”

She nodded. “I know you do.”

“I’m going to keep trying. I promise.”

She looked up at him and he saw her eyes crinkle through the eyeholes, smiling behind the mask. “I know. S’like you say when I’m learnin’ stuff - just keep trying and do your best.”

“I am.” And he was, but he heard the resignation in her voice, that of somebody saying something for the umpteenth time. It reminded him of teachers who didn’t know his home life, bosses who didn’t know about his PTSD. People whose patience eventually ran out. He knew hers would too, if he couldn’t keep his promise. It was only a matter of time.

“We should head back,” Brad said gruffly, forcing his emotions down. 

“Okaaay,” Buddy grumbled. “Fine.” She kicked at the dirt and rocks as they headed back down the hill. Her pace became a jog and she ran ahead of him, then turned and waited for him to catch up. “Can we kill somethin’ for dinner?” she called.

Brad hurried over to say, “Don’t talk so loud. I’ll look for animals, _you_ have to stay inside.”

“But my mask is on!”

“But you sound like a girl.”

“Then I won’t _talk_ ,” she snapped back. “You can’t cage me down there forever.”

“It’s for -”

“- my own good, I _know,_ you’ve told me a million times,” she said, huffing _._ “But if you gimme a gun, I know how to use them, it’s fine!”

“Keep your voice _down,”_ Brad scolded her again, and she shied away with a _tch_. “...you can come, but one of your uncles has to come too,” he relented.

“Hell yeah! I’ll bag a deer for us,” she proclaimed, obeying Brad and lowering her voice. “I’ve done it before.”

“I know.” Buddy had proven herself decent at hunting in the past, killing the occasional rabbit or buck. “But you’re not leaving my sight.”

“Fine, fine. C’mon, I’m hungry,” she said, then broke into a jog again. Brad sighed, shook his head, and followed her.

Days. Months. Brad couldn’t deny that Buddy was a preteen now, with all the belligerence and turbulent emotions that came with that age. She talked back more, got angrier, refused to listen to him, deliberately broke his rules. It pushed him to his limits, sent him into fits of panic and paranoia and shouting matches that left him shaking and left her in tears. She was no longer asking but demanding answers to everything he had put off discussing for the last twelve years. She was no longer tolerating his vague responses but insisting on the full truth. He told her what he was willing to say and nothing more, and it only tore her further away from him and sent him crawling back to his vices.

 _You weren’t ready. I wasn’t ready._ Of course he wasn’t. Of course he hadn’t been.

His failures tore at him every night when he tried to sleep, even more so when he heard her crying and knew that he couldn’t help her and he drank until he blacked out and blocked her out. He couldn’t confide in his friends; their pity and comfort had faded years ago. _Why don’t you want her to know any of this? You know she has to learn someday,_ they had all told him in one way or another. They were getting warier, getting more fed up with him and his weaknesses. And they didn't seem to understand the danger she would be in if she were to be let out into the world.

 _I can’t pass this burden to her. I can’t force this identity onto her._ What would she do if she knew the truth about who she was? If she knew what men would do to her, would want her to do? The mere thought of it made rage boil in his chest and he longed to take out his violence on any possible threat to her - any man but him. His worst nightmares replaced Lisa with Buddy and their father with a faceless, nameless rapist. _She’s a child, just a child,_ he wanted to scream. Every time those memories resurfaced and he saw the pain his sister went through, he knew his goal, his _purpose,_ was to keep Buddy from feeling the same pain.

But he couldn't tell her those things. She was too young to learn of such cruelty. And so the rift widened between them.

 _I’m sorry,_ he would say, he would say it a hundred times if it meant anything anymore. _I’m sorry I can’t do this for you, I’m sorry I’m not good enough, I’m sorry I don’t know what I’m doing._ It wasn’t like he had anyone to emulate when it came to parenthood.

“I’m sorry,” he said, one night when everyone was huddled in various places in the house while a storm raged overhead. Even as Brad and Buddy sat downstairs, they could hear the rain outside. The words lingered on his tongue. He said them like they still carried any weight. He wished they did.

He saw her look at him out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t look at her. “For what?” 

“For...everything. I...wanted to be better. I tried to be better. I’m sorry I’m not.” It was all he could say. Something was crushing his lungs and burning his throat and he felt stuck, trapped in his own head, in his own misery. Withdrawal made his hands tremble but he clenched them into fists, resisting the call as much as he could.

She didn’t say anything for a long time, just crossed her arms over her bent knees and rested her head there, staring across the room. She brushed some hair behind her; her long black-brown hair had grown halfway down her back and she hadn’t bothered to put it up that day.

“It was gonna be shitty no matter what,” she said eventually; she cursed more than the adults did when they didn’t bother to censor her. “ _Someone_ would’ve stuck me in a hole in the ground ‘cause I’m special. S’ like you said...this is all there is, I guess.”

He would have comforted her if he could, but he had nothing. He had no doubt that any other man who found her would have hidden her away for one reason or another. 

He stood up. “One day, things will be different,” he said, hoping he spoke the truth, then headed upstairs. He wasn’t strong enough for this.

Shouting. Screaming. Crying. Words that couldn’t be taken back.

Pills, bottles, pain.

Darkness.

She was gone. His worst fear was real. Everything else was background noise. Men were opponents he would kill or disposable allies he would eventually leave behind. They died for him and he felt nothing. Withdrawal filled his body and blood and shook his bones but he didn’t care. He had to be sober for this, he _had_ to be, hallucinations be damned. 

Pain. Pain flooding his heart, pain searing every inch of his skin, fear occasionally drowning it out. But it always came back, it always lay underneath. Pain drove him forward. It was all he could feel.

 _I love you. I’m coming, I promise. I won’t stop until I find you,_ he thought as he looked at the stars she so badly wanted to see and fell asleep only when he was too tired to stand.

Old, old anger that had festered within him since he was an abused child exploded out of him when he beat Rick half to death. He was in his way. He didn’t matter. None of this mattered. His daughter mattered. That was it. 

A few moments, just a few, where she was safe, before she was torn away from him again.

Her words echoed in his ears. Her ignorance and defiance fueled his rage. _They’ve put these thoughts in her head._ Her distrust clawed at his insides. _What have I done?_

His regrets sunk in with every step. _Why didn’t I tell her? Why did I let her find out from men who want to use her?_

Blood soaked his fists, his clothes, the ground. It didn’t matter.

Men and strange fleshy creatures alike stood in his way. They didn’t matter.

Still, there was an exception: with his daughter watching, he couldn’t let three innocent men die. He looked at Buddy, high above him and surrounded by enemies, and she shook her head. She knew, too. 

_I’m sorry,_ he thought, hoping his gaze conveyed it well enough.

She didn’t even scream. 

Brad felt wretched. Furious. Internally he howled with grief and sorrow and rage, while he noiselessly stared into the sunset. He had to keep going, had to be braver than he had ever been, even as his arm socket stung with pain and fatigue slowed his pace and withdrawal grew worse.

 _I will protect you._ That was the only thing left in his mind.

As he killed every threat to Buddy’s safety that crossed his path, he felt anew the despair that came with knowing he had hurt her so much, had driven her to this point, had broken her trust, and that with every step he took to her, she took one away from him. 

_Please, I hope you know that I meant it every time I said I loved you._

It was like he had divided into two people the moment he saw his father’s face outside of a hallucination and tried to resist his own fury. His sister's sobbing face filled his vision, then faded. One man had attacked mercilessly with no regard for anything else around him, blood pounding behind his eyes and clouding his vision with violence, violence. The other was screaming for him to stop, begging, pleading, anything. _You don’t have to do this._ But he _did_.

Buddy was there, her hands held up, her eyes wide with anger and fear, and the man in control struck her and shoved her aside, and the man inside roared in more pain than he had ever experienced in his life. He wanted to tear his own body apart, wanted to be rid of this, _please -_

When his father lay dead at Brad’s feet, when he was finally free of the specter of abuse that had haunted him for so many years, he was one person again, and she was gone.

He had done bad things as a father, but he had never hit her. Not until now.

He sunk to his knees, looked at his hand, and cried.

Then, darkness.

_You’ll never know how much I love you. It’s more than I could ever say. I did everything for you. I just wanted to do something right this time._

_I crossed the wasteland for you, I killed and stole and lied and lost a limb and let people die for me, and I did it all for you, and I would do it a thousand times over if it meant you would be safe._

_But I couldn’t do the one thing you needed. I couldn’t be who I needed to be for you. I couldn’t give you the life you deserve. I hurt you over and over. It’s no wonder you don’t trust me. It’s no wonder you hate me._

_I’m sorry._

The sun began to set behind the low, heavy clouds, blurred dim light sending the weak shadows of Rando’s army stretching towards Brad, and nothing could stop him at this point, nothing could make him turn back, nothing could make him give up, nothing could stand between him and his daughter. He stood on sore feet, his lungs expanded under cracked ribs, his tongue sat between broken teeth, but he felt nothing. He didn’t need Joy to feel nothing anymore.

What was left of his heart had shattered minutes ago when Buddy had shouted at him, but she had never understood. Now they were here, across this great divide, and even if she hated him, it was for her own good. It had always been for her own good. That had been the belief behind every single action he had taken for the last thirteen years, the only one he clung to.

Something sat heavy in his body even as it hummed with adrenaline; an intense sadness weighed him down.

After all of this, it still hurt. After all of this, he still had to fight. After all of this, he was still the same broken man with a drug addiction and a track record of hurting people. After all of his hard work, all the long nights and patience and tears and laughter and memories, here he stood. After everything, he was still a failure. A failed brother, a failed friend, a failed father.

A new sensation was filling his body, coursing through his veins. As crimson began to cloud his vision, he looked across the sea of masks and faces in a last attempt to see her, to see his daughter, the only good thing that had ever happened to him, his second chance and so much more than that, but she was hidden from view. Still, he could picture her face, twisted with anger as it may be, and it gave new strength to his aching limbs. 

He raised his remaining fist. He would do this for her.

“You ruined everything! I had a chance at life, and you took it away from me!” Buddy’s voice was stifled by her crying. She stood away from him, shaking, shouting, her face wet with tears and blood. “Out of everybody in this fucking world, _you’ve_ hurt me the most!”

Brad’s mind was a whirlwind of emotion, even as he knew he was bleeding out, as he knew his heart was beating its last. He had collapsed onto the ground, too heavy for his legs to hold him.

“I know.” Her raised shoulders fell as he finally acknowledged her pain, his responsibility. “People...will always try to use you,” he managed to say, coughing. “I wanted to...protect you...I’m sorry that...I failed you...Remember that it’s up to you to...go and change...your life into one that’s...worth remembering.”

“Oh, _now_ you’re trying to say the right things?” she demanded. “ _Now_ you’re trying to be a father? You weren’t there when I needed you! Why are you doing this to me?!”

Her words were met with silence, interrupted only by her sniffling.

“Buddy...can you do...one thing for me?” Brad asked eventually. He could feel his lungs compressing, his breaths growing shallower and shallower. “Hold me...please...I’ve never…”

For a moment, her anger fell away. He wondered if somehow he could convey the pain he endured to get here, the pain that held onto him since he was a child. He wondered if she looked into his eyes and saw what had been done to him and what he had seen, and wondered if she would feel any empathy if she knew.

Anger was replaced by anguish. She stepped forward and he felt her small arms around him and he cried. She cried, too, and fresh tears fell on his shoulders. For a long moment, they remembered those moments, good and bad, the ones that defined their lives. For a long moment, they were father and daughter and he felt her shaking body and the weight of everything he had ever done, everything he had put her through. 

But still, he thought again, she was alive. And maybe that could be enough.

“Buddy…” he croaked out, and she backed away.

“Yes?” she asked, her voice trembling. Some of his blood had rubbed off on her and it stained his shawl draped on her shoulders.

Her hazel eye, her messy brown-black hair, her broad stance, her expression. His daughter. His pride and joy, true joy. For one moment, she was Lisa, but he blinked that vision away. She could keep going. She could live on. She could rise above this. She could be strong.

“Did I do the right thing?”

**Author's Note:**

> [the time has come, let us be brave.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZiDlT94vp4)


End file.
